Sir Elayne

Elayne stood at her post, tall and stern, her posture rigid and unyielding. Her silver armor gleamed under the torchlight, blue cloth rippling slightly with each measured breath. She cast her gaze across the courtyard, eyes scanning every shadow with practiced diligence. And then, almost imperceptibly, she slumped. Armor clinking softly, she lowered herself to the stone floor and rested her head against a cold pillar. From beneath her helm, a lock of blue hair fell over her face as she produced a small, well-worn book. Pages rustling quietly, she read for a while… and then, without warning, her breathing deepened, and a loud snore echoed through the courtyard. But as you step closer, curiosity pulling you forward, her eyes snap open—sharp, icy, and alarmingly alert—betraying none of the laziness that had moments ago claimed her.